A Good Man
by Radar-rox
Summary: Spoilers for 3x12 prevent me from posting a proper summary here!


**I_ had to write something for Much about Allan's death. Aside from the injustice of it all, Much just looked so heartbreakingly devastated.... Anyway. This isn't any additional plot or anything, just Much's reaction to them finding the body. Also I'd like to say a big thank to you to everyone on Treat Much Right who commented in the episode review(s), you guys gave me loads more inspiration for things to include in what would otherwise have been a rather shorter fic! And thanks to Helen, for betaing. Disclaimer: Don't own a darned thing. Series three especially would have been rather different if I did._**

Much turned his back on Robin and the gathering crowd. He knew Robin was about to deliver one of his speeches, but he also knew what he was going to say; that Isabella was defeated, the castle belonged to the people now. That it was over.

He had something more important to do. They'd left Allan tied up at camp, believing that his friends thought him a traitor. Much was sorry about that. The look on Allan's face had been hard to watch as he was accused, but they'd had no choice, they couldn't risk-

He stopped short. There was something lying just outside the gates, wrapped in rough cloth. He took another step forward but found he could go no further. Much was afraid.

He ran back and shouted for Robin, then led him, John, and the others to where their mysterious gift was waiting. He hung back as Robin and John approached, but fought down his sense of foreboding to join them in grasping the fabric to unroll it. After all, it couldn't possibly be what he was afraid it-

…. It was.

Allan.

He was dead.

Much knew even before Tuck knelt down to check for a pulse, he'd seen that look a hundred times in the Holy Land. The thing before them now had Allan's bright blue eyes, his wavy hair, his rosy lips (which for once weren't turned up in a cheeky smirk), his quick fingers…. But everything that made him Allan was gone now.

Allan was gone.

How had this happened? Surely Allan hadn't been found at the camp, if he was innocent no-one could know where it was, it was so well-disguised-

He must've freed himself. Decided to go, leave them. Much couldn't blame the man. It wasn't long ago that he himself had almost left the gang, almost abandoned Robin… everything was falling apart.

As the shock receded, Much was hit by the grief. Allan. They'd become much closer since their time together in the Holy Land, grown to be good friends. Much didn't love Allan as much as he loved Robin, but despite everything he'd done to betray them before, he didn't hate him as much either. And now it was all over. Allan was dead.

Despite their previous differences, it had always been insisted by Djaq that Allan was a good man, and Much knew now that she was right. Under his jests, and his mistakes, he'd had a good heart, and had risked his own life frequently to stay and fight with them.

That brought on the guilt. Somewhere deep in his heart, Much had known that Allan was innocent. Known that he couldn't, no, _wouldn't_ have betrayed them again, knew how sorry he was and that he wished he could take it back, knew that he thought of them as his family…

But Much hadn't listened. Because his head had been louder, his head which had told him that Allan had done it before so could do it again, that a pardon from the new sheriff must mean betrayal of the gang… his stupid, thick head had told him all of this. And it had cost him the life of his friend.

Why had they believed that of him on the word of Isabella? One announcement, and that was it? Why hadn't they listened? Even when the Sheriff had made Much Earl of Bonchurch, as far as he knew not one of the gang had thought he'd betrayed them, so why had they now?

Because of what had happened before. Allan had fought so hard to earn their trust again, prove that he was loyal, that he loved them. Every one of them had accepted him back in the gang, had thought they'd put it behind them… but as soon as there was a possibility that he was lying, they'd all believed it. Not one of them would listen to him.

Much watched John tenderly lift Allan's lifeless body across his back, and tossed the cloth away as Gisbourne yelled for them to man the battlements. There was an army approaching.

Did it matter? Allan had died thinking that his closest friends, his family, thought him a traitor.

It was they who had betrayed him.

**Please review!**


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